"I'm gwine to have mutton for supper," explained Lopez, "and I want to get down to my sheep as they are passin' through a little draw back here a piece. They always go through there about this time."
After a short time the party came to a draw through which ran a small stream of clear water. Here they saw a flock of perhaps two hundred sheep feeding slowly along. All were headed in one direction.
"I see a young wether," Lopez announced as the party drew up beside a giant pine. "Shall I pick him off?"
"Go as far as you like," replied Harry. "I don't know one from another. They all look alike to me."
"See those two drinking by that big dead stub," Lopez said. "Which one shall I take, the one with black on his face or the white?"
"Take the black faced one," replied Arnold. "He's fatter."
"Here goes then," stated Lopez seeming hardly to take aim before pulling the trigger. "The black faced one was what you wanted."
His shot was successful. The black faced sheep fell in his tracks. Lopez swung quickly forward, picked up the sheep and started away with his burden over his shoulder.
"Come on, now," he urged. "The rest of the flock'll go home all right and I want to get to the cabin right soon and get supper."
The boys wondered at his haste to leave the spot. Arnold looked quickly at Harry and exchanged questioning glances, but spoke no word. Harry's hands were busy with the mute language, however.